The Times Be A Changin'
by NightWhisper184
Summary: Parker has always been a rational, even-tempered man. Dr. Augustine apparently aims to change that.


**Just a fun one-shot I used to work through writer's block during my multi-chap stories. **

**Thanks to Musical FANtasy for beta-reading. All mistakes are mine.**

* * *

Times like this made him want to scream—as in loudly—as in without stopping—as in for _days_. Only one person in the entire universe could consecutively rile him up and exhaust him. Who?

The bane of his existence...

The Almighty She-Devil...

The spawn of Satan himself...

The one, the only—which he thanked God for every second of every day—

_The_ Grace Augustine.

Even her name provoked a shudder from his traumatized body. Well, technically it was his mind that was traumatized the most, but no one on Earth—or Pandora, as he was unfortunately coming to realize—could stand to listen to the doctor's rants without bursting an eardrum once or twice. So yes, Parker felt justified in saying that his poor body had been very much traumatized. It was two hours later and he was still forcing everyone to repeat themselves four or five times depending on the individual's natural voice range (and his interest level, of course).

Another groan threatened to bubble up, but he stamped it down just in time. No sense giving Augustine any more satisfaction than she already had.

The thought's absurdity suddenly hit him, and this time he did groan. Great, now he was afraid of making a sound in his own office. What was that she-devil doing to him?

Still, she did have many spies. Some said the air itself recorded conversations and played them back for her. For some horrifying reason, this theory was not immediately dismissed from his mind. Instead, it festered there, growing stronger every second it was entertained.

Now, it must be understood that Parker was a purely logical man. A working mind was one of the requirements for promotion in his line of work, after all.

This was utter nonsense, foolish talk conjured by idiotic henchmen—yes, he had reserved the right to call all his subordinates henchmen (it specifically said so in his contract)—with far too much time on their hands. All this mumbo-jumbo about spirits and ancient womanly deities and the trees being alive was getting to his head.

And it was all Augustine's fault!

Just to spite her, he stuck out his tongue at the wall while making a scary face. Hah! Take that Dr. Jekyll.

"Uhh...sir?"

Hastily retracting his tongue and wiping his features clear, Parker spun around in his chair. There, standing before him in all her shapely glory, was Ms. Hartwood.

For months now, he had been gathering the courage to ask her out—where they would actually go, he had no idea. Something told him she would not appreciate being shot at by the natives if he were to take her to a romantic, secluded clearing. Oh well. He would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Every time it seemed he was ready to ask her out, she would look over at him expectantly and all his bravery would gush out like a broken toilet. Having her catch him like this, frazzled after dealing with Augustine, was almost too cruel to comprehend— just another reason to hate the good doctor.

"Ah! Ms. Hartwood. What do you need?" he asked pleasantly, easing back into his chair.

Even if inside he was bawling at the unfairness of it all, on the surface he appeared relaxed and in charge. Not even Augustine was going to ruin his reputation—not all of it, at least.

"Well, sir," she replied, juggling reports and her coffee mug, "another complaint just arrived from Dr. Augustine's office. It says something about a lab technician poking himself in the eye with an infected needle. Oh, don't worry, he's alright now. His eye is healing quite nicely with minimum eyesight loss. He isn't even going to press charges," she soothed, misinterpreting his horrified expression as concern for the man.

Parker slumped down in his chair and leaned his head back. Just how much trouble could that woman cause him in one day?

"No, don't answer that," he hurriedly muttered, eyeing the ceiling warily.

Hartwood paused in her chatter. "What was that?"

Turning his gaze back on the woman, he motioned for her to continue. "Nothing, nothing. Merely talking to myself, that's all. You were saying?"

_Blasted woman, going to get me fired. Or worse! I could be put under Quaritch's command. _

He shivered at the thought, and new determination surged through him. No _way_ was he going to talk to that guy everyday_. _

_Surely there's a way to control that woman! Maybe if I give her more research funds, she'll lay off me—but that would mean going through Vulcumn again. I honestly don't which one is worse. _

Suddenly, one of Hartwood's comments registered in Parker's mind, and he looked up with narrowed eyes. No, he must have heard wrong—he simply _had_ to have.

"What was that, Ms. Hartwood?"

Her reply was swift, apparently thinking he was about to reprimand her. "I said, 'We're already behind by two weeks and—'"

When he held up his hand, she shut her mouth with a _snap!_

"No, no, before that. Something about Augustine?"

"Well, I said that we just need to develop the technology to clone Dr. Augustine and then we wouldn't be so behind. She's already making so much progress with the natives, but things have slowed down since she's been taken off the Avatar driver list. There's simply no time for her to 'go in' as they put it, since her deadline is coming up with the bio-research committee. They're expecting an update next week through the inter-space transmitter, which is going to cost us millions. If they don't like what they hear...well, it won't be good for anyone."

Fixing a smile to his lips with slight difficulty, Parker replied, "Ms. Hartwood, I'm not sure the universe is quite ready for two Dr. Augustines yet."

How much pressure could teeth withstand without shattering? At this rate, he was sure to discover it.

Clearly believing he was joking, she relaxed with a laugh. However, her chuckles died down when she saw the deadly serious glint in Parker's eyes.

He gripped his chair's armrests until his knuckles turned white. His mind raced as he calculated all the ways to kill a clone without being fired for harassment. The directors could possibly be persuaded to drop the charges if he promised to send them the video of him setting the clone on fire. They'd like that.

"I'll...uhh...go now," Hartwood interrupted nervously, clutching the reports to her chest.

Parker glanced up just as she sped out the door.

_Oh, what did I do to deserve this?_ he wondered despondently, resting his head in his hands. _Traveling through space locked in a glorified freezer for three years? I think, "Sure, no problem." Being shot at by hostile blue monkeys? "Eh, I can handle it." Making a fool of myself for passing out at the sight of a thanator? "Okay, I need a vacation." Working alongside Quaritch for five years? "Well, I can't have everything in this world." But trying to have an intelligent, adult conversation with Dr. Augustine for two minutes? I have gray hairs in places I didn't know existed on my body—which is more than a little disturbing. _

"Davidson!" Parker yelled out the door.

"Yes sir?"

"Get me a drink, will ya? Preferably something stronger than this purified, chemically altered, not quite blue water. I've had one heck of a day. Shouldn't it be quitting time yet?"

"Uhh, sir? It's only ten A.M."

_Thump. _

"Sir? Are you okay?"

"..."

"Sir?"

"..."

"I'll...err...get that drink now, sir."


End file.
